


Love is a Smiling Thing

by mrwonderwoman (fem_castielnovak)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, Laughter During Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, bc i'm a huge fucking sap, do i ever write any smut without these features?, no - no i do not, safe sex, talking about feelings, with a constant craving for emotional vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: inspired bythis post“god, you’re so tight”“thanks you’re pretty cool too”





	Love is a Smiling Thing

**Author's Note:**

> that post is me af  
> and i wrote this fic in one sitting, the night after I discovered it - but it has since been thoroughly edited

 

 

For the record, Clint always prefers fucking with the lights on. But Phil Coulson, two fingers deep inside Clint and stretched above him in the darkness of Clint's bedroom, is one of the most incredible vistas he's ever been presented with. The faint light from the city below filters in golden-yellow, like streetlamp bulbs and old-fashioned billboard spotlights. It catches on the crest of Phil's brow and the side of his nose; in the tiny drops of sweat just starting to bead across his forehead; against the tips of his teeth visible behind his open lips. 

Clint blinks long and slow, and rocks down against those clever fingers plying him open. Phil reads him like a book and it's strange to be so  _known_. It adds a whole new element to sex. He could do this forever. 

With the slick, wet sounds of their movements egging him on, he rocks down again. This and the sounds of Phil's laden breathing are reason enough for him to have left his ears in. But aside from that, the two of them have dropped into a wordless silence. At least temporarily. Clint's kind of only tolerating it because of the unabashed way Phil keeps dividing his gaze between Clint's face and where his hand is moving between Clint's legs. As though he  _really_  likes, and  _really_  wants what he's seeing; as if he's about to consume Clint whole. 

Clint widens the spread of his knees - draws his heels back the barest bit to get a better push on the mattress. Phil wets his lips and pulls his gaze across the lines of Clint's lower half: his knees, and his calves, and the vee of his hips ...

Phil's fingers are as far inside him as they're gonna get, as is, but Clint pushes down against them anyways, and he's rewarded with the welcome, gentle press of a third finger. It also brings Phil's gaze back up to his face. And this time, his eyes linger long enough for Clint to become more self-aware than he'd like to feel. So he reaches up to cup the back of Phil's neck and pull him down into a slow, heavy kiss. 

Clint squeezes down as they break apart, appreciating the increased space Phil's taking up. 

They've only been at this a few weeks but fuck if Clint hasn't already gotten a craving for it all. Phil's touch - the way they work together, the familiarity and the intimacy - it's fucking addictive. Getting together with his best friend has proven to be totally worth the anxiety he suffered before they sorted themselves out. 

He tightens himself again and Phil takes a sharp breath.

"Please," Clint says, and he tries not to feel embarrassed. But Phil's nodding even before the word has fully left his mouth. His fingers slip out of Clint with a soft suction noise that makes him shiver. 

Clint finds himself trying to contain an excited smile as he watches Phil unwrap and roll on a condom. The mattress dips and his body sways with the movement as Phil shifts back towards him. Clint lets him adjust their limbs and positions. Phil's hands settle low down on the top of Clint's thighs before they sweep up and back into the dips of his knees. Clint likes him just where he is - likes being held that way - so before Phil can move, he takes the initiative and reaches down to grab a hold of Phil's dick and line it up with his hole. 

Phil shuffles forward, holding his pelvis back so they don't get ahead of themselves, and Clint boxes in his hips with his knees. With his free hand, he sets a gentle grip around Phil's elbow, just to have another point of connection. There's a moment where Clint thinks they'll do this without anything needing to be said; another point where silence is more than enough communication between them. And then - 

"Give it to me," he says, sure and demanding, and sparking the point for their words to come back into play. 

"I'm all yours," Phil purrs, low and throaty as he leans in for a kiss and pushes forward. 

 _Sweet Jesus_ , what a rush. 

Clint cuts off the contact with a long, satisfied exhale. Phil's lips slide across his cheek and down his neck; unwilling or unable to create any real sort of separation. 

" _Clint_ ," he sighs as he slowly sinks in.

"Fuck, yes," he whispers in response, even as Phil pauses his progress. There's a moment to adjust, which Clint takes gladly because Phil is by no means a small man, but then he's relaxing himself and giving a light squeeze where he still has a hand wrapped around his elbow. "All the way," he whispers right into Phil's ear. 

The moment stretches as one, or maybe both of them shiver. Then, Phil inhales deeply as he bottoms out. Clint lets escape the exact opposite of a gasp - a wholly satisfied sound. Phil's arms edge inward to bracket Clint's ribs as he centers his gravity and props himself up. 

Clint feels full and engulfed at once. This is the moment he's been craving all day. He pushes back into the cradle of Phil's pelvis and hums at that little extra depth he's able to achieve. Phil groans obscenely, as if he can't fucking help himself. Clint lets a smile spread across his features but bites the inside of his cheek to keep it from getting wild. Phil looks just as blissed out as he feels. 

He pulls halfway out and pushes back in twice. 

"Clint," he croons in that same fucked out voice as before. "God, you're so tight." And at once it's the way it's always been between the two of them.

"Thanks," Clint pants, delighted and a little smug, "you're pretty cool, too."

He's so focused on the impending thrust that he almost misses the way his smartass remark makes Phil go still. There's a tense moment, where the air builds up in Clint's lungs, ready to say his partner's name in question, when above him, Phil bursts into rich laughter. It startles Clint a little; he's unused to such outward, above-the-surface displays and Phil is still balls deep inside him. He feels his own expression fall into a nervous twist of a smile. But Phil misses it as his forehead drops against Clint's collarbone. Phil's weight settles heavily onto his forearms as his shoulders shake and hunch. And Clint's left staring at the broad expanse of Phil's back, trying to figure out what he should be feeling. It's a little difficult with Phil's dick unwaveringly hard inside him and pushing insistently against Clint's happy button.

Predictably, Clint wiggles in a silent call for attention and he happens to clench down just as Phil starts to lift his head. Phil groans and ducks his head further, like he can't help himself. But then the last of his laughter drifts off and he's looking up at Clint with a soft, dreamy sort of smile. 

"I love you," he says, eyes bright and expression awed as he meets Clint's gaze dead on, "I'm so fucking in love with you." He lifts his hips and draws back at the end of his sentence, pushing in again with enough force and good aim to have Clint's body pulling into an arc and his eyes rolling back in his head. 

Phil's lips stipple hot and sweet all across Clint's extended throat, their chests sliding together as he leans in. Clint's hands seize on the balls of Phil's shoulders then push down across his scapulas, arms wrapping tight to keep him close. Their lips meet, searching and briefly mismatched before interlocking. There's nothing to focus on but the moment at hand. Clint's knees pull up to hitch over Phil's hips. He feels every ounce of how obscene he must look - naked and sweating, stretched out on his back in the darkness. 

"Fuck," he grunts already moving, "Wanna ride you," he says as he finishes pushing up with his right arm and flipping them. His left stays wrapped around Phil's back - the anchor that prevents them from continuously tumbling and rolling off the bed. Clint's dexterous enough that he manages to keep his legs locked around Phil's waist, and Phil's dick in his ass. He sits up all the way and aligns their bodies, propping himself upright against Phil's chest but letting his legs take most of his weight. Phil looks up at him with wide, hungry eyes. Clint bites his lip just a little for effect as he lifts himself up. The effortless flex of his thighs highlights the ease of his movements - how much control he has over his limbs and their coupling. 

Phil raises his knees into a bend - they bump into Clint's back with every push and roll. Then, in a surprising show of flexibility, Phil arches up between Clint's arms to get his gently parted mouth against his nipple. Clint hums in satisfaction.

"Yeah," he sighs, pressing forward, into the contact. He has yet to say anything on the subject but Phil seems to have caught on to just how sensitive his chest is. The drag of his tongue is sporadic with Phil's limited mobility in his mannered position but it feels great and Clint isn't about to stop riding Phil's cock. Phil's mouth trails a wet line to Clint's other nipple and Clint wonders if he could get Phil to fuck his chest sometime. He's only got a little cleavage but damn, it'd be fun to try. 

Phil has one of his nipples pinched between his teeth when Clint pushes him back down. Clint lets his head fall back a little, rolling down harder to get the pace and pressure he wants. Phil's hardly hit the mattress before he's sinking both hands into the meat of Clint's ass. A shiver runs up Clint's spine when Phil pulls him tighter against the bowl of his pelvis and holds him there as he pushes against the mattress with his feet. They slide up the bed towards the headboard and Clint leans into the movement, reaching up with one hand to hold onto the top of it, but keeping his other curled over Phil's shoulder. Phil props up against the headboard just for the extra leverage it affords him. A leverage he uses to start punching his hips relentlessly up into Clint. His breath catches for just a moment - his grip clutches at both points of fixation in the same instant before he groans and drops into matching and meeting Phil's pace. Everything but his upper legs falls slack in the face of their glorious, even, tandem ebb and flow. His hand slips to lie across the span of Phil's rangers tattoo over his pec. It's a part of Phil that he's particularly fond of. He lets his fingers swirl across the simple black lines. 

Phil has two handfuls of Clint's ass, and he gives a squeeze before bringing his right hand around to take hold of Clint's dick. 

"Shit, Phil," he breathes, hunching forward. "Yeah, fucking fuck me."

Phil bites his lip but Clint can't quite tell why - there's too much going on with his face. Clint's hand curls over the tattoo and his nails dig in just a little. Phil hisses and shifts into the sharp touch.   
The mattress and bedframe start to creak with their rutting, making Clint impossibly proud of their efforts. 

"Tell me you're close," Phil says, his voice that same low growl it's been since before he even got inside Clint. 

"Al. Most. There," he huffs, punctuating every syllable with a bounce. 

"Christ, you look good like this," Phil's hand twists hot and fast over Clint's dick. "Gonna want you in my lap all the time, now."

"Fuck," Clint says under his breath, then louder; "And you didn't before?"

Phil's laugh is halfway to a scoff - much more typical than his outburst before. "Sure," he pants, "But- the reality- makes it- all - the more- tempting-  _shit_." 

And that was the reaction Clint was looking for, so he makes the movement with his hips again, and again, and again until he feels Phil swell and spill inside him. Clint clenches down intermittently as he keeps riding him, wrapping his own hand around the one Phil has on him, interlocking their fingers and stripping his cock until he's coming across Phil's stomach and chest. 

And jeeze, that just about takes everything out of him. Halfway through his orgasm he starts to tip sideways, rolling off of Phil and onto the mattress as Phil's softening member slips out of him. The two of them lie panting, side by side for a moment.

"Whew," Clint says, throwing an arm across his eyes but letting it fall back above his head when keeping it there proves too much effort.

Phil laughs softly, sitting up and rolling his shoulders. He stands, then turns around and holds out his hand. Clint takes it languidly, curling onto his side and getting up on all fours to crawl off the bed and let Phil lead him into the bathroom. 

They take their sweet time cleaning up, getting a little handsy with one another in the process. In between kisses, Clint slips out and snags a pair of pajama and sweatpants from his dresser. 

"Pizza?" Phil suggests when Clint comes back. 

He nods and reaches up to adjust his hearing aids, where they've come a little loose and out of tune during their activities. Phil pats him on the ass on the way out. 

When Clint comes through the bedroom Phil's got his undershirt back on and is donning his glasses. Clint winks and leers at him as he passes by. 

Phil follows him out and goes for Clint's landline, dialing the pizzeria's number from memory. Clint flops down on the couch and watches him punch in the digits. He loves how Phil looks in glasses - intelligent and a little distinguished . And Phil in a tight white t-shirt kills him every time. It's a lot; to be this attracted to someone. 

His thoughts stutter at that. Because earlier ... earlier, Phil had said that he was in  _love_ with Clint. And the way he'd said it; the look on his face- ...   
Clint's stomach swoops, and he looks down to pick at the seam on the sofa's arm.

He could let it go, but Clint isn't exactly one for leaving things be. And this in particular happens to be kind of important to him. 

So he props his head up on one hand and lets himself stare at Phil as he orders. Phil catches on after a minute and keeps eye contact as he finishes up the call. Clint blinks at him, then tilts his head up against the back of the couch until Phil is just in his periphery. 

Phil hangs up the phone with a soft beep and a click.

"Why are you sideyeing me?"

"You know why I'm sideyeing you," Clint tells the ceiling. Then he drops his head in a lazy roll towards his shoulder to look at Phil. 

Phil, who's now biting his lip and looking fairly close to sheepish, but not at all like he's sorry - which is a look Clint is afraid to read one way or another. "I suppose I do." He takes a few steps closer, "I- There's probably a lot of better - more appropriate - times and places for something like that to be said."

He looks more tentative that Clint's maybe ever seen him, which is apparently enough to keep Clint from making any commentary. But Phil also isn't saying anything else beyond that runaround of a response. It's pretty much the opposite of a straight answer, which is all Clint was looking for.

Before he can think better of it, he finds himself asking, "Did you mean it?"

He wants to look back up at the ceiling, but instead, he watches as Phil's face twists itself in a knot. Hot shame wells up inside Clint, and he looks away before it can make him feel any more ridiculous or bereft. Jesus, of course he didn't mean it. Everyone and their dog knows not to take declarations of love seriously when they happen in bed. 

'Nevermind,' he wants to say, but his throat isn't cooperating. He manages to shake his head a little, like he's just brushing aside any old unnecessary, semi-redundant question. He turns and reaches unaffectedly for the remote where it's stuffed between the cushions. 

But Phil's hand is suddenly wrapped around his extended wrist. Clint looks up and the halting fingers slip down to interlock with Clint's. 

"Clint," he says, heartfelt and soft, "I've loved you for years."

Clint recoils a little, surprised at how much this surprises him, but he's quick to lean back in, afraid of sending the wrong message.

"Years?" he asks - the word sounds fuzzy around the edges. 

Phil nods, "I thought you knew. I know it's bad form to say it the first time, mid-coitus, but I thought I'd been obvious about it."

Clint shakes his head, "I didn't." He reaches out and takes Phil's other hand, "You've gotta clarify this shit with me - I'm never gonna be able to guess about this stuff."

Phil smiles, sheepish again, "I don't know that I'm much better at this sort of thing than you are."

Clint tugs on his hands and Phil shuffles forward until his knees hit the edge of the couch, and Clint pulls him into his lap, "If you're back here with me, then who's flying the plane?"

"Note to self," Phil says as he straddles Clint's thighs, "be better at communication."

"Mmm - might have to borrow that one," Clint mumbles as he leans up into a kiss. Phil is so good at taking Clint apart with just his mouth. Phil backs off with a few divided but lingering presses of his lips. 

"I guess ..." Clint starts, pausing to gather himself and clear his throat, "In the spirit of good communication - I, uh, I guess this is the part where I tell you that I love you too."

"Really?" Phil asks with a bright grin, like he's genuinely, happily surprised by the statement.

"Yeah. Probably for longer than you've even liked me for."

"Well, I don't know about that." Phil's hands slide up from his shoulders to cup his jaw and cradle the back of his neck. "You were pretty damn charming from the start."

Clint wraps one of his hands around Phil's forearm, "When did you get so patronizing?"

"Fuck you," Phil says succinctly and directs Clint into another kiss.

They aren't typically this tactile outside the bedroom, but Clint can definitely see himself becoming a steadfast fan. He wraps his arms around Phil's waist and pulls their torsos flush. He wonders how long it'll take the them both to work themselves up to round two, but they're interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Phil sighs and leans back before pushing himself up off the couch, "Dinner is served."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Should I have been taking care of real life responsibilities? yes  
> Should I have been working on other fics? definitely  
> Am I glad I wrote this one? i honestly can't even tell at this point 
> 
> This was the first fic in forever where I just focused on writing a draft and I managed to finish it before I went back and did any real editing. I felt so damn decisive. 
> 
> Pls someone else have a go at writing for this prompt; I want more than what I produced
> 
>  **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [Sloppy Firsts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723403) by [SomebodyOwens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyOwens/pseuds/SomebodyOwens)  
> [The Body Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12379500) by [Bentrumors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bentrumors/pseuds/Bentrumors)  
> [I told you I would stay ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2001672) by [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird)  
> 


End file.
